Текст песни НАСЫБУЛЛИН - Посвящается Есенину

In the mornings, the candle is all listed
September pregnant summer.
And fields of rye sun paints
In the color of the hair of the Russian poet.
And at night, arguing with drunk wind,
Maples are torn holey shirts,
And thrown in the legs with young vessels
Leaves like head on fees.
This autumn wanders the doorway,
Out of Okro and Sangina evening,
Warming in once profitable
Mansion, desert and old,
Where the shadows resurrect in the darkness
Noise Kabatsky, Mantic joke.
Where was Sergey Yesenin poet
And read the poems of prostitutes.
And he lowered his shoulders
His hands a woman from a bar.
"Young, with sensual ruffle",
Soro, sing, damned guitar ...
Why among Rues and Bluda,
From which unbearable pain
He shouted poems and beat the dishes,
Pouring a soul alcohol?
And in the window of the poultry
Maple drops leaves with verses ...
Oh, cover dead eyes
These dark windows are pyatakov!
... I now have chest gypsies
Dange in his shouting chore
About the crazy eyes of the pegrim,
About who was not on the Bosphorus.